


Scars

by AlleiraDayne



Series: Instead of Going to Bed DAI Verse [19]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen, Cullen Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Fluff, Cullen Rutherford Smut, F/M, Fluff, POV Cullen Rutherford, Smutt, Sweet Cullen Rutherford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:17:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlleiraDayne/pseuds/AlleiraDayne
Summary: Cullen is still not used to his scar.





	Scars

[](https://www.flickr.com/photos/138010791@N02/36260217413/in/datetaken-public/)

_Aged. Contorted. Transformed. Transfigured._

The quill scratched across the parchment as Cullen struck a line through each word, scowling in the small mirror palmed in his hand. The scar puckered, tugging at clean skin and reminding him of that fateful day in Kirkwall.

Elbows rested on the edge of his desk as he hunched over, glowering in the mirror, the scar pulling taut. Sharp shadows flickered in the grooves of his skin, the wavering candlelight a poor ward against the darkness of night.

_Terminated._

Another line scored the parchment. Too few words captured his sentiments on his scar, none of which positive. That mark served as a reminder of his past, of a time he wished to forget but never could.

“Commander?”

A soft knock on the door preceded Amallia entering, her head poking over the threshold. “Do you have a moment?”

In a clumsy rush to hide his thoughts, Cullen stuffed the mirror and paper into a drawer, slamming it shut as he responded. “Ah… yes, Inquisitor. What can I do for you?”

Amallia crossed the space between them and stopped before his desk with her hands folded, smiling her small smile.

Maker, but  _her_ lips. Plump and pink and pristine, they baited his attention, eyes coaxed to stare. Soft and supple against his, he relived their most recent kiss, the memory so fresh her pine and sea salt scent filled his nose.

How odd it must feel to her, the uneven skin and weakened muscle on her lips so perfect. Why would she, of all people, desire to feel his lips on hers when there were plenty of others, unblemished and free of demons like hers?

As if she read his thoughts, her tongue parted her lips, prodding at the same corner where the scar lay on his. Whether she’d done it on purpose–was she flirting with him?–Cullen didn’t care.

It was fucking adorable.

Something jolted her to her senses then, her smile fading, and, with a shake of her head, she spoke. “Sorry. I couldn’t sleep… so I was going through some reports and–”

Her thought trailed to silence, unfinished, but from her pocket she withdrew a folded parchment. Without a word, she handed it to him, smiling once more.

With a slow reach, Cullen leaned across his desk and took the note from her. Unfurled, he recognized his own hand and his chest constricted, short of breath and head spinning in confusion.

There on the parchment lay a long list of words akin to the list shoved in his drawer. And at the bottom scrawled a hasty thought that he repeated aloud:

_Maker, take these memories from me. And while you’re at it, take this wretched scar, too._

“Shame, really,” she started as she rounded his desk and sat on it beside him. A devious grin hooked her smile as her legs crossed at the ankles. “I kinda like it.”

Embarrassment stung his cheeks, heat creeping along his neck from the pit of his stomach. Andraste’s  _tits,_ how?! How had he been so careless, so  _reckless_  to let something like this fall into her hands?!

No. Forget how she found the list. That mattered least of all.

She  _liked his Maker damned scar?!_

 _“_ Terrific. Magnificent. Enthralling. Charming,” she continued, counting each word on her fingers.

“Wha-what?” he stuttered.

“Your scar,” she explained. “You kept picking shitty words. So, I added a few,” she said as she pointed to the parchment.

Sure enough, her angular script sat at the bottom of the paper, the last circled in purple ink.

 _Sexy_.

“I think I like the last one the best, don’t you?”

The thrumming of his heart filled his ears, decorum fleeing and logic abandoning him to his emotions. In unfamiliar territory, Cullen acted on impulse and leaped from his chair.

His lips crashed down upon hers with inexorable need, the parchment flying from his hands to grasp her, fingers diving into her hair. Their embrace swallowed her muffled shriek of surprise, and Amallia braced herself against him, pinned between his thighs and the desk.

Time fled, slipping and sliding and stretching as if to grant them a few more seconds together in that moment. Pine and sea salt filled his nose, the warmth of her mouth enveloped his tongue, and greedy fingers bit into his hips as she tugged him flush to her body.

And then his world shattered as she tongued his scar, a soft swipe over the taut skin of his lips. An unbidden whimper burst from his chest as his knees buckled, but Amallia, the Maker bless her heart, held him steady.

“And you hate your scar,” she scoffed as he regained his feet.

Cullen hummed a short laugh through his nose as a devious grin hooked the corner of his lips. Her own crooked smile softened to gaping awe, eyes locked on his scar once more.

“Do you have a few hours to change my mind?”


End file.
